Oy, how I love paranoia.
A delectable variety of narcissism, indeed.
(Please refrain from shoving an official lexicon of psychological terms in my face, pushing your glasses up onto your nose, and literally pointing out definitions with the finger of your choosing. I’ll just tell you to take care of those horrid cuticles.)
See that huddle of friends talking on a street corner? The one that burst into laughter moments after you passed? Chances are, they’re not laughing at you.
What does she mean — “chances are”? That means there is a chance they’re laughing at me!
Everyone’s life does not revolve around you or yours. Really. It doesn’t.
And no, I am not being passive-aggressive here. If I had a “problem” with someone in particular, I’d privately address that person. I’m just making a general statement.
I think she’s just saying that. I know she’s talking about me. I mean, my cuticles are ragged. She’s laughing at me.